


Liebesträume

by alykapedia



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 13:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5929726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alykapedia/pseuds/alykapedia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Liebesträume,” Gokudera echoes into the silence of his apartment, eyes tracing the words with something like bewilderment. Instead of a noise complaint, he gets a request? “What the actual fuck.” </p><p>In which Gokudera Hayato, former piano prodigy and current slave to the Masters-Doctorate program, learns to fall in love with the music. Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Liszt, Beethoven, and (unfortunately) Mozart

**Author's Note:**

> So. This was wholly inspired by this photo (http://imgur.com/zPFyPoE) going around in tumblr a while back along with an 'Imagine your OTP' spiel. And of course, because I've never written a pianist!AU before, my inner classical music nerd demanded that I write this. 
> 
> Also! I couldn't not add pictures because reasons. All pictures are mine, so, I'm sorry for my shitty camera skills (and my equally shitty handwriting).
> 
> Just a head's up, there will be talk of depression in this fic, so if that worries/bothers you, you should probably skip this or well, your mileage might vary. I'll try my best to give warnings for things.

The note arrives on a dreary Wednesday afternoon.

Gokudera almost doesn’t notice it, too engrossed in crescendos and half-notes and all too consumed with the burning feeling inside his chest he wants to believe is heartburn but is most likely a noxious mixture of anger, grief, and bitterness. His fingers stutter over the keys, cutting the etude short when he sees movement at the edge of his vision.

“Uri?” Gokudera calls out into the silence of his apartment, blinking away the cloud he always gets when he plays for too long. “Oi, Uri!” He calls out again, green eyes darting around the small living space, only to be rewarded with a decidedly belligerent _meow_ from his roommate.

Said roommate was currently sprawled on her belly near the door, warily pawing at a piece of paper.

“What’s that you got there, Uri?” He asks as he pads towards Uri. Uri, demonstrating that no, she has yet to evolve and speak, simply meows at him. “Yeah, that’s what I thought so too.” He mutters, bending to swipe at the paper before Uri decides to make confetti out of it.

There’s something scrawled on the piece of loose-leaf, a noise complaint most likely. It won’t be the first time some irate neighbor had a few things to say about his piano playing and he doubts it’ll be the last. He flips the note, wondering what kind of creative expletives this one had in store for him. The last time someone complained about all the racket he was supposedly making–how Chopin’s _Nocturne_ counted as _racket_ , Gokudera will never know—they had done so via several dictionaries’ worth of curse words.

[ _A humble request to the pianist: Liebestr_ _äume no. 3 in A flat_ ]

“Liebesträume,” Gokudera echoes into the silence of his apartment, eyes tracing the words with something like bewilderment. Instead of a noise complaint, he gets a request? “What the actual fuck.” He reads the note again, hoping to shed some light on things, but no, the message, written in chicken scratch remains the same.

One of his neighbors wants to hear him play Liebesträume no. 3 in A flat.

Huh.

Okay then.

Twisting his lips in contemplation, Gokudera turned to Uri. “What do you think, Uri? You up for some Liszt?”

Uri, in true Uri fashion affords him a bored meow which Gokudera takes as an affirmative. And if it wasn’t, well, Uri could deal. He’s been dealing with her howling at unholy hours of the night after all.

Tucking the note into his pocket, Gokudera ambles towards one of his many bookshelves, turning towards the one dedicated to sheet music. He knows the piece, of course, knows Liszt like an old friend, like a faint thrumming in his veins. But it’s been a while since he’s played this particular piece and for some reason Gokudera would chalk up to stubborn pride, he wants to make this good for his mysterious neighbor.

It’s not every day he gets a request after all.

Sheet music in hand, he makes a detour to the French doors leading out into the balcony and pushes them open. It’d be useless if whoever requested the piece were unable to hear it. And so, with his doors open and the notes jumping out at him from yellowing sheets of paper, Gokudera sits down on the worn bench and begins to play.

The beginning is shaky, his fingers stumbling over the opening bars like a foal trying out its first steps. He can almost hear his sister’s ribbing at his messy start, but still he forges on. His playing gets smoother when he reaches the first cadenza, years of training and innate talent guiding his fingers through every note with swift efficacy.

It doesn’t take long, the piece is just the last part of a longer Nocturne, after all. For a moment, Gokudera feels woefully bereft. It’s a familiar feeling. He always feels this way every single time he finishes playing, as if he’s poured everything out for the whole world to see and now there’s nothing left inside of him. It’s one of the reasons why he’d stopped playing professionally; Gokudera’s never figured out what to do about the emptiness.

He lets out a shaky exhale after a few seconds and suddenly, there’s muffled applause coming from outside. Stumbling to his feet, Gokudera hurries out into the balcony, straining his ears for the clapping, and _oh_ , there it is. He squints, leaning against the railing as he looks up, up, because somewhere up there, just a few floors above Gokudera, is the mysterious neighbor who requested Liebestraume, _clapping_.

Clapping, as if he’s just heard Gokudera perform in a fucking concert hall.

 

-

 

“And?” Haru prompts excitedly and Gokudera momentarily regrets telling her of all people. But then who else is he supposed to tell? It’s not as if he’s drowning in people he begrudgingly considers friends. So it’s either Haru or Uri and frankly, Gokudera’s tired of soliloquizing to his cat.

Of course, Haru isn’t much better.

“And nothing, that’s it. I played the piece, whoever it is gave me a round of applause.” He grouses, taking a bite of his sandwich. “End of story.”

Haru makes an annoyed noise, dropping her sandwich on the plate. “You didn’t even try and find out who it was?”

Gokudera shrugs. “It’s too much trouble.”

“It’s too much—oh my god,” Haru splutters, grabbing at his face suddenly because Haru was insane, and holy fuck, she still has mayonnaise on her hands, “something straight out of a novel jumps out at you and you take the boring route and ignore the whole thing? The hell, ‘Dera?”

He lets out a loud groan, reaching up to peel Haru’s hands away from his face. “Okay, one, my life is not actually a Danielle Steel novel, two, I refuse to have you live vicariously through me, and three, you had mayonnaise on your hands, moron!” He grabs at Haru’s handkerchief, ignoring her affronted gasp, and wipes his cheeks with it.

“I thought we’ve agreed when we started the descent to the hell that is the combined Masters-Doctorate program that we would live vicariously through each other if ever one of us had the slightest bit of chance at romance.” Haru says, picking up her sandwich, this time with a paper napkin.

Gokudera prudently chokes on a chunk of ham. “When the hell did I agree to that?!”

“It was an unspoken agreement in our friendship,” Haru sniffs imperiously before letting out a long, drawn-out sigh. “Ah well, it was stupid to expect that you’d do anything like ask about who your mysterious neighbor is.”

“Damn right.”

Letting out a long, drawn-out sigh, Haru turns to him with bright eyes and a look on her face that makes him a bit nervous about what she’s going to say next. “How are you, though? Does playing still—“ She trails off, biting her lower lip, at a loss as to how to say _does playing the piano still_ _make your chest constrict painfully it feels like your heart is going to burst and your lungs feel like they’ll collapse and make you feel like ending your life again_ without sounding like a terrible human being.

In another time, in another place, and if Haru wasn’t Haru, Gokudera would have snarled and thrown expletives and every hateful word he has burning on his tongue. But Haru is Haru and she’s his best friend and she’s pulled him out of almost every hole he’d dug himself in each and every time by virtue of being her annoying and perceptive self, so Gokudera musters up a smile that looks like a grimace and says, as honestly as he possibly can, “it’s not great, but it’s—it’s okay.”

Playing for his faceless neighbor had felt better than when he was playing for an equally faceless crowd in a concert hall.

Haru smiles, brittle and _oh_ , how he hates making her smile like that. “I’m glad.” She whispers, almost inaudible in the din of their lab’s shitty AC. “Anyway,” Haru begins, a forceful segue because she knows him too well and knows when he wants to talk and when he doesn’t, “you’ll tell me if you get another request, right? At least let me fantasize a Danielle Steele ending for you, yeah?”

Gokudera snorts, takes Haru’s unoccupied hand and squeezes tight.

Haru squeezes back even tighter.

“Fuck no.”

.

 

It’s another week before he gets another request, not that Gokudera’s been counting the days because that would be ridiculous and he is a busy, busy man with far better things to do. Honest. And it’s entirely stupid to even hope that this, whatever this is, wasn’t just a one-time thing sort of deal, so he definitely does not wait for any more notes slipped under his door.

And if he happens to sprint towards the foyer the next Wednesday when he glimpses a piece of paper stuck beneath the welcome mat, then that’s totally between him and Uri.

_ _

_[If it isn’t any trouble, Sonata Pathetique 2 nd mvmt_.]

It’s the same handwriting as the first note Gokudera had placed on the fridge—held up by one of the souvenir shop refrigerator magnets Bianchi always sends him whenever she goes on tour—but instead of loose-leaf, this one is written on the back of an old receipt for a bottle of Pocari and, _huh_ , shaving cream.

Looks like his faceless neighbor is a guy.

Or at least, someone who uses shaving cream.

Gokudera lets out a small hum before taking another magnet—one that says Warsaw in a cutesy font—to hold the new note in place. He takes one last look at the new request, eyes tracing the words before heading towards the French doors and pushing them open. Not bothering with sheet music this time around—it’s his _sister’s favorite piece_ and he’s known it by heart before he even turned _ten_ —he makes a detour towards the piano, sits down on the bench, and begins to play.

 

-

 

“Oooh, _Pathetique_! I’m starting to like your mystery neighbor.” Haru croons when he (begrudgingly and inevitably) tells her. “Or at least, their taste in music at the very least.” She adds thoughtfully, “wanna bet on which composer your next request’s gonna be?”

Gokudera rolls his eyes, pushing Haru’s chair away and ignoring her subsequent shriek as she rolls towards the autoclave. “You’re an idiot.” He says, trying and ultimately failing to keep the fondness off his voice. “Next week’s lunch on Chopin.”

Haru crows triumphantly, spinning on her chair like the five-year-old she truly is. “Lunch _and_ dinner on Bach.”

“You’re on.”

 

-

 

Neither of them win.

The asshole asks for Mozart and it’s a good thing the piece asks for vehemence because Gokudera wanted to win, damnit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gokudera and Haru are like, my BrOTP/OTP and I like them bantering so there may be a lot of them talking in the future.
> 
> Songs played in this chapter are (1) Liebestraum no. 3 in A flat by Liszt (which is really pretty, please have a listen), (2) Sonata Pathetique 2nd movement by Beethoven (a personal favorite), and a particularly vehement Mozart piece of your choice.


	2. Debussy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because i am in dire need of a distraction because med school is eating me alive.
> 
> my handwriting is still, unsurprisingly, terrible. all pictures are mine.

Weeks pass and the notes don’t stop coming.

Every Wednesday afternoon, they arrive, slipped inside his apartment by the gap under his door. They’ll be written by the same hand on sheets of loose-leaf, old receipts, post-it notes, even train tickets, and always, without fail, they’ll contain a request and a compliment that has Gokudera smiling like an idiot until Saturday—until Bel inevitable shows up to fuck shit up in the adjacent lab and flirt obnoxiously with him and Haru. And then Gokudera will trudge through the week, making observations, messing around with the stats, arguing with Verde, and playing with Uri, until a new note comes and the cycle starts again.

Recently though, he starts receiving notes on Sundays too. Not requests though, just silly things like observations about the weather _[man it’s really hot right now!]_ and gossip about their neighbors _[did you know, room 315’s mrs. takizawa’s daughter just eloped with her highschool teacher?]_ , and _per Dio_ , it shouldn’t make him feel ridiculously happy because he refuses to be in a fucking rom-com, but it does and Gokudera knows that he’s all the better for it.

_[you play very well! can you please pay Claire de Lune?]_

He’s playing the piano more—is actually playing a piece now, _Debussy_ , and damn, Haru got it right this time—and he finds himself falling in love with the music again. Every piece he plays for his faceless neighbor brings with it a giddy delight he’d almost forgotten, an airy feeling of happiness and contentment he thought he’d lost when—

_(“I don’t think she’s going to come, bambino.”)_

When _she_ —

—because _he_ —

“ _Merda_.”

_(“I’m so sorry, Hayato.”)_

His fingers stutter on the keys before he’s pushing himself away from the piano, stumbling to his feet and rushing towards the kitchen sink. And then he’s retching, dry heaving because he’d skipped lunch didn’t he? There’s nothing but bile in his throat and tears in his eyes, and his entire body is shaking, and _fuck, fuck, he can’t do this now_ —

_(“She’s—she’s gone, Hayato. She can’t see you again.)_

“Shit,” he rasps, face burning with hot tears, heart clenching painfully inside his chest—

_(“She’s dead, fratellino.”)_

-

There’s a new note on Thursday, hastily scrawled on the back of a receipt for a pack of KitKats.

Gokudera throws it away along with his shaky reply.

_[are you okay? | **I'm not** ]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha ha im not sorry
> 
> merda - shit  
> bambino - baby  
> fratellino - (little) brother


	3. Fluoxetine/Satie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uri meows at him as if saying, who's gonna feed me if you go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was difficult to write, a lot of personal and interpersonal stuff happened while i was in the midst of writing this chapter and at one point i wanted to scrap it because it got too much for me, but in many ways this became weirdly cathartic too. i know depression manifests in different ways and different people deal with it differently. this is just my sucky interpretation of it. so uh. yeah. 
> 
> apologies for the kinda choppy writing. 
> 
> warning for depression and a teeny tiny mention of a suicide attempt.

“How long has it been since you’ve spoken with your father?” Fon asks, innocuous enough that Gokudera actually considers answering. It’s always like this with Fon though, he always starts Gokudera off with the questions he doesn’t really mind answering and keeps the prying ones reserved for the middle of their session, when Gokudera’s less likely to bolt out the door and more likely to burst into ugly tears.

They’ve established something of a system, him and Fon.

He shrugs, twiddles his thumbs and tries not to stare openly at the family picture displayed on Fon’s desk. “A year, I think? I dunno.” He doesn’t really remember talking to the old man recently. It’s not as if they have anything to talk about ever since she—

Fon hums, smile never wavering as he effectively cuts off the dangerous train of thought Gokudera’s almost boarded. “How about your sister?”

“I talked to her just last night. She’s on tour right now with the orchestra, but she still calls every night to nag me.” A part of him hates that Bianchi does so, the angry teenage part of him who never truly grew up, who never grew up from resenting his sister. Because it feels a lot like mistrust. As if she doesn’t quite trust him to take care of himself. But another part of him, the one who’s trying his fucking best at figuring shit out, gets that this is Bianchi trying to help.

There’s a small enigmatic smile on Fon’s face when Gokudera looks up, the other man’s gaze flickering to the family picture on his desk. “You’ll find that nagging is a trait shared by all older siblings,” Fon remarks with a small laugh. “Is it alright for me to ask what you talked about?”

Gokudera shrugs, leaning back on his seat. “The usual stuff,” he starts, “eat your vegetables, play nice with the other kids, go to bed at a reasonable time. She also mentioned that she’s getting engaged soon.” The last sentence leaves his mouth without permission, and he tamps down on the urge to flinch when he sees Fon tilt his head in interest.

“You don’t seem very thrilled about it.”

“I’m—“ He trails off, chewing on his bottom lip. “Dino’s a decent guy, I guess.”

“But?” Fon prompts.

“My sister could do better.” Gokudera says, deadpan.

“Have you told her that you think so?”

“Not in so many words.”

“Why is that?”

Gokudera exhales sharply, staring down at his hands as if they’re the most interesting things he’d ever seen. “Because Dino makes her happier than anyone ever could. And Bianchi deserves all the fucking happiness in the world.”

“How about you?”

Gokudera blinks, rapidly, as if doing so will make Fon’s statement make any sort of viable sense. It doesn’t. “What?”

“How much happiness do you think you deserve?” Fon asks and _ah yes,_ they’ve reached the _burst into ugly tears_ portion of their session.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Gokudera takes in a large, shuddering breath and averts his gaze to his lap.

“ _I don’t_.”

 

-

 

There’s a note taped on his copy of Good Omens when he takes it out of his bag. It’s written on one of the bright pink post-it notes that Haru owns that don’t really stick to anything.

[ _Dera! Don’t forget to drink your meds! Fluoxetine 30mg/day. Call your sister!_ ]

 

Gokudera huffs out a small, tired laugh, takes out his phone and shoots Haru a quick _thanks loser_.

He doesn’t deserve that girl. 

 

-

 

0 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 0 1

Time slows down to a _c r a w l_.

Days shuffle past under the _h a z e_ of medication.

Data trickles by in a parade of ones and zeroes, as slow as _m o l a s s e s._

0 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 1 1 01 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 01 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 1 1 0  1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 0 0

Dust starts to collect inside his head,

his chest,

his piano.

Haru’s voice and touches occasionally break through the haze.

_(“You know you can always talk to me, right?”_

                                                                                                                                                               _“I know.”)_

But it’s hard to hear her concern, to feel her warmth and love, to give anything back when everything feels

~~so~~

~~far~~

~~away~~

It’s as if he’s been dunked _underwater_ and he’s f o r g o t t e       n 

how

to 

0 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 10 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 1 1 01 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 00 0 0 1 0 0 00 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 10 1 0 1 1 0 11 0 0 00 1 0 1 11 1 0 0 1 01 1 0 10 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 01 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 0 10 0 0 0 0 01 1 0 1 1 1 00 1 1 01 1 1 1 0 11 1 01 0 00 0 1 000 0 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 10 1 0 1 1 0  11  0 0 00  1 0 1 1 1 10  01 0 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 10 1 1 1 01 0  0 00 1 0 0 0 0 0 01 1 0 11 1 10 110 1 011 0 11 0 0 00 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 01 0 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 11 1  0 1 1 0 1 10 1 0 0 1  00 0 00 0 1 1 0  1 1 1 00 1 1 0 11  11 0 1 1 1  01 0  00 0 1  00 00  0011  011110  11  01 0  11 0 11 0  00 0 1 0 11 1 1 00 101 1 0 1 00 1 0 0 10 0 1 1 1 01 1 0 1 1 01 0 0 1 0 0  0 0 00  11 0 1 1  10 0 1 10 1111 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 0 00 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 10  11 0 10 1 1 0 11 0 0 0 0 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**_drown_.**

-

 

Time eventually catches up. As it always does.

And when it does, Gokudera wakes up in the middle of an afternoon nap restless, mind too busy running a mile a minute to try and parse anything. He’s tried to ignore it, the continuous cacophony inside his head, spreading down his entire body, buzzing underneath his skin.

He almost manages to ignore all of it until he finds himself standing in the kitchen, knife in hand, idly debating the merits of bleeding profusely on hardwood or tiles.

Uri watches him, eyes wide, whiskers twitching.

She _meows_.

Meows and looks at him with something like exasperation.

Meows at him as if saying, _who’s gonna feed me if you go?_

And stupidly enough, it makes him stop and take a deep calming breath, and another, until he hears the knife clatter to the bottom of the sink.

Uri jumps down from her perch on the kitchen counter, slinking towards him and curling around his legs before looking up at him balefully.

“Hey,” he scrapes out of his dry throat, dropping to a crouch to pick Uri up. She purrs, entire body rumbling with it as she rubs her face against his sweater. He gathers Uri closer to him, shaking as he does so, and for the first time since Bianchi’s given her to him, Uri lets him without complaint.

“I’m sorry.” He rasps, and Uri purrs in response, one paw sliding down his cheek, following the trails the tears had already made. They stay like that for several beats before Uri clambers off his arms and saunters to the direction of the living room.

Gokudera follows, stumbling after his cat. His hands are still trembling, the buzz still deafening in his ears, but it’s manageable now. Not better. Never better. But at least he can hear himself think.

“Uri, what are you doing?” He calls out, leaning heavily against the piano. Uri’s pawing at the low bookshelf where he keeps his sheet music. “You want me to play?” He asks as Uri successfully sends a folder of sheet music tumbling to the floor. Any other time he’d rush to fix the mess, but right now, right now when his heart’s still thrumming out a frantic beat— _prestissimo_ —he’s content to just watch, willing every process in his body to slow down— _decelerando, decelerando_ —so he can learn how to breathe again.

Inhale.

                             — _diminuendo_ —

Hold.

                                                                                                    — _diminuendo_ —

Exhale.

Uri manages to tease out a single yellowing page of sheet music, dragging it with her paws to him. There’s a voice inside his head that idly wonders how Uri even manages it, idly wonders if his sister had somehow bought him an animagus for a cat. _Except, duh, magic isn’t real_ , another voice grumbles as Uri stops before him. Extremely proud of herself for some inane reason. Well, even he’s kinda proud of her too for not tearing his copy of _Satie’s Gymnop_ _é_ _die no. 1_ to shreds.

“Satie, really?”

 _Yes, really_ , Uri’s belligerent meow says. Probably.

A minute passes and Gokudera shrugs helplessly, collapsing on the stool.

It’s not as if he has anything else to do other than obsessively count the capsules he’s missed taking.

 

-

 

The next day, there’s a note taped on his front door.

_[Glad to hear you’re playing again! If you don’t mind me asking, what song was that?]_

 

It’s dumb, so incredibly dumb, especially after he’s ignored countless other notes during the time he’s spent _under_. But a knot inside his chest loosens just a tiny bit when he sees the note, reads the words.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Gokudera takes out a Sharpie and scribbles out a response.

_[Gymnop_ _édie – Erik Satie]_

 

He’s not better, not by a long shot.

But maybe he can try to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluoxetine is an anti-depressant (serotonin reuptake inhibitor) and normal dosage is about 20 mg/day and its side-effects vary from person to person. And Gokudera's totally the kind of person who'll read Good Omens, okay. I will duel you for this. 
> 
> The binary code that turns up in this chapter just says "I'm not okay" in an endless loop. So uh. Yeah. 
> 
> Gymnopedie no. 1 by Erik Satie is a v refreshing piece (i think?). You've probably heard it during a movie since it works well as ambient music, but if you haven't yet, please go and listen to it! 
> 
> (you can go yell at me on tumblr at alykapediaaa)


	4. interlude I: Miura Haru

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really, the things she does for the sake of friendship and love. Haru deserves an award.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was gonna update yesterday, but my internet got wonky so here we are. a bit of an interlude chapter before we move on to the next few parts. a little haru for the soul.
> 
> tiny mention of depression/self-harm in this one.

“What?” Haru yells into her phone, shifting her bag more securely on her shoulder as she makes her way up the winding stairs of Gokudera’s apartment complex. “I can’t hear you, ‘Dera—will you just—just text okay? I’m almost at your apartment anyway.”

 _“Bring me a change of clothes, I said!”_ Gokudera’s voice rasps out from her phone, blatantly ignoring her plea for him to just send a text. Typical. _“I can’t text right now, I’m occupied—holyshit, I think something—ah no, that’s just the machine acting up again. And don’t forget to feed Uri!”_ Gokudera adds before abruptly hanging up.

“Bye, Haru. Be careful going back, Haru. Thank you for getting me a change of clothes, Haru.” The brunette mutters under her breath as she arrives at Gokudera’s floor. Really, the things she does for the sake of friendship and love. Haru deserves an award. She deserves all the fucking awards. “Ugh, why does he have to live somewhere without an elevator?” Haru grumbles, dragging her feet to the familiar path of Gokudera’s door.

The apartment complex is curiously empty. She’s used to hearing Gokudera’s right-side neighbor yammering noisily about her grandkids to the young woman next door, or watching as the really handsome policeman from upstairs rush down, yelling apologies at his phone. Then again, Haru normally comes here by early evening to bum food out of Gokudera, so the quiet is probably normal for this time of day.

She reaches Gokudera’s door with little fanfare, fumbles with the keys, and breathes in the weird mix of old books, day-old coffee, mint, and fancy cat food that permeates Gokudera’s apartment. She throws her bag haphazardly at the couch and makes a beeline towards the kitchen, calling out Uri’s name as she goes.

Might as well feed Uri first before she forgets.

“Uri?” Haru calls, opening one of the drawers reserved for cat things and taking out a can of the expensive as shit cat food that Uri has taken a liking to and has somehow suckered her owner to buy. Well, whatever. If Gokudera wants to buy expensive cat food, then it was so not Haru’s problem. “Hey, Uri? Where are you?” She calls out again, surveying the still empty kitchen with surprise.

Uri always turns up from wherever she normally disappears to once Haru starts rummaging with the drawers.

Weird.

“Uri?” She calls/yells, walking towards the piano with the can of cat food still in hand and absently noting the scattered pages of sheet music. “Uri!” Haru draws out the last syllable, peeking under the cluttered coffee table for a glimpse of a tail or a paw. She walks over to peer inside the bedroom but only ends up with a glimpse of Gokudera’s unmade bed, a dying cactus, and no cat in sight.

Where on earth was Uri?

Gokudera wouldn’t have reminded her to feed his cat if Uri wasn’t around, right?

Does Gokudera even know where his cat goes when he’s not around?

Maybe Uri _was_ an animagus like they thought.

And then of course Uri takes this time to slink by between her legs, tail curling around her ankle and shedding fur over her nicest pair of tights.

“You’re terrible,” Haru deadpans, nudging Uri gently with her foot. Uri purrs, twisting around Haru’s legs as if making sure that her tights were equally covered with fur. Thoughtful of her, really. Letting out an explosive sigh, Haru crouches down and lets Uri crawl into her arms. “Where were you, huh?” She asks, doing an about-face and making her way back to the kitchen so she can finally, finally cross one thing off her list of chores. “I’m telling on you, missy. Disappearing like that like some kind of—why do you smell like tuna?”

 _Meow_.

“Did you—did you already eat?” Haru demands, letting Uri crawl down onto the counter. She sets down the (thankfully) unopened can of cat food on the counter and affords Uri a glare. “Uri, what the hell?”

A longer _meow_ and a belligerent nose wiggle.

“I cannot believe you’re conning some poor person into feeding you when you have this frou-frou crap.” She throws up her arms in exasperation as Uri settles down against the olive oil bottles. “I am so telling on you, Gokudera’s going to be so disappointed—“  

Another _meow_ , and Haru swears that Uri just raised an eyebrow at her. Can cats even raise their eyebrows? Do they even _have_ eyebrows?

“Yeah, okay, he’ll probably be proud of you because he had a hooligan phase he never grew out of.” Haru sighs, pushing up her sleeves. “Well, you’re fed so I’m gonna go do other stuff now.”

She pushes off of the counter with a quick pat to Uri’s head and hurries back to the bedroom.

“Clothes first,” Haru decides as she throws the closet doors open. She grabs a random shirt and the frumpiest sweater she could find before choosing a pair of baggy pants because she worries about Gokudera’s circulation sometimes with all the skinny jeans he wears. After a perfunctory look at the underwear drawer and the subsequent discovery that no, her best friend does not own any sexy lingerie, she grabs a pair of boxers and stuffs her hoard in a duffel on the bed. “Then the notebooks and papers on the desk,” she mumbles to herself as she gathers all the notebooks and stray pages of loose-leaf on the cluttered desk and arranges them into something resembling a messy pile.

It’s then that she notices the downturned picture frame and she finds herself picking it up, wondering why it would be face-down on the desk when all other picture frames were upright. The moment her eyes fall on the photo; it all becomes horribly clear. This particular frame was face-down because none of the others held a picture of _Gokudera’s mom, stupid, stupid idiot!_ Haru immediately puts the frame back, fingers tingling and heart racing inside her chest.

_Gods, she’s such an idiot._

She knows, of course, that Gokudera’s been having _trouble_ again. She’d helplessly watched him fall into a monotonous hum last month and then had had him confess to her just a few days ago that he’d thought about cutting himself. _Again_. He’d said it so nonchalantly that Haru could only nod and squeeze Gokudera’s hand and open her arms for a hug because what else could she do? She doesn’t know what to do other than to be there for him and Haru’s so afraid of it not being enough.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Haru tears a piece of paper from a nearby pad and digs around her coat pockets for an errant pen. She finds one tucked beneath a veritable mountain of receipts and her keys and fishes it out, grinning when she sees the lurid pink cap. Gokudera always rolls his eyes and snorts whenever she uses this particular pen, so all the more reason to use it. She composes a quick note in her head, something sincere but not too sappy, before she starts to write.

-

She leaves the note on the desk, held down by a bunch of cards and an eraser.

_[ATTN!!! A FRIENDLY PSA. You can always talk to me. ALWAYS. I will always listen to you. (Unless you’re gonna give me Game of Thrones spoilers. I still haven’t forgiven you for the Red Wedding, assbutt!) I LOVE YOU (mostly platonically. JK! no homo.)]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the curious, i imagined gokudera's apartment complex as the one in nodame cantabile: paris hen (which i cannot find a picture of but basically, large brick building with an open courtyard and a large winding staircase).
> 
> gokudera and haru would speculate whether uri was an animagus during down time at the lab. gokudera has read a song of ice and fire and constantly annoys haru with spoilers (haru only watches the show). 
> 
> and hey bonus points if you spot the teeny-tiny yamamoto mention.


	5. Stravinsky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He starts writing the note on a complete whim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are picking up. also, i ended up going epistolary for this chapter.
> 
> sucky pictures are mine. excuse the increasingly terrible handwriting.

 

 

“Hey,” Gokudera starts, kicking off from his desk so that his chair rolls lazily towards Haru. “Give me a composer.”

Haru pauses from where she’s correcting papers and pushes Gokudera’s seat away with her foot. “We’re doing this again?” She asks, red pen pausing its murder of someone’s obviously plagiarized paper. “Liebesträume guy’s still leaving you requests?”

Humming, Gokudera smoothly stops his chair next to the lab freezer (which contained far too much food than actual laboratory necessities to be called as such). “Never really stopped,” he tries to say as nonchalantly as he can, avoiding Haru’s gaze as he adds, “even during the depression episode,” and earns himself a cut-off sigh. “Anyway, they weren’t really requests anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Haru raises an eyebrow, putting the pen down and pushing away from her table, attention piqued. He almost regrets opening this up again, because Haru would of course be interested. Almost weirdly so.

“We’ve recently been exchanging notes.”

He doesn’t elaborate, no need to feed Haru’s shoujo manga dreams than he already has. And the exchanges thus far had been harmless, mostly music things, and the occasional gossip about the other tenants. Gokudera’s weirdly impressed by the mystery neighbor’s aptitude for the apartment complex’ scuttlebutt seeing as the only people he personally knows are the landlady for obvious reasons, and his next door neighbor who brings him food from time to time and tuts at how thin he was like some overbearing grandmother.

“Really?”

“You don’t have to look so surprised. And shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but you were thinking it.”

“You know—“

“Haru.”

“—this is really starting to sound like—“

“ _Per Dio_ , shut up.”

“—the plot of a rom-com.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Whatever. So, composer?”

-

He starts writing the note on a complete whim. It’s not really often that he does anything impulsively, much less act on a whim of all things. And he’s more than ready to lay the blame on Haru’s feet and all the rom-coms and shoujo manga she’d forced on him over the years if it comes down to it. But right now, Gokudera’s just the right mixture of curious and bored when he puts pen to paper and writes out three letters and a question mark.

He tapes the note to his door as he leaves before he can convince himself not to.

_[asl?]_

 

-

 

[ _24/m/3 floors up :D you?_ ]

[ _24/m/you obviously know where_ ]

 

-

 

[ _haha! if you don’t mind me asking, when did you start playing the piano? Because you’re really, really good._ ]

[ _since I was 5, probably? I can’t really remember._ ]

[ _whoa! That’s really young. I bet you’re one of those piano prodigies they feature on the TV._ ]

[ _well, I haven’t really been featured on the television. So, no._ ]

 

-

 

[ _but you do admit that you’re a prodigy! Just a head’s up! If you normally take the main road for work, I’m advising you to find a different route for tomorrow. There’s been a pile up and they’re still clearing it up._ ]

[ _How did you know that? I’m already amazed that you’re up to date with all the gossip in the building and now this? Are you some creepy stalker?_ ]

[ _I’m not a stalker, promise! Although, I guess that’s something a stalker would say, but I swear I’m not. I know things because it’s kiiiinda related to my job. And the old ladies on the second floor know everything. I overhear things when they have their little meetings._ ]

[ _Good to know your gossip comes from such reputable sources. And thanks for the heads up, you saved me a few hours of frustration._ ]

[ _No prob, just doing my job! The old ladies know everything, okay. They’re like the mafia. And they give really awesome recipes._ ]

[ _So you’re either a traffic officer or a cop. My next-door neighbor, Mrs. Tachibana makes a mean beef stew._ ]

[ _She does! Her curry is also pretty good!_ ]

 

-

 

[ _Don’t think I don’t notice you ignoring my guess about your occupation._ ]

[ _I admit to nothing! :D Oh, do you by any chance know how to play Petrushka?]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will post the next chapter soon-ish? i'm planning to update monthly (i'm sorry it sucks but school's already started for me and i have clinics on some days /cries) so ehhh, we'll see if i can stick to a schedule. 
> 
> Petrushka is a really fun piece by Igor Stravinsky.


	6. Entr'acte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because right in front of Gokudera’s door is a man.
> 
> A very familiar, good-looking man wearing a police uniform.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Uh. It's been a while. Sorry for the (incredibly) late update, but med school has been brutal and mosquitoes officially hate me (always wear insect repellent, kids). 
> 
> Ehh not too happy with this one and for some reason, it got difficult to write because the dialogue kept evading me and ugh, I'm sorry for the terribleness ahead. 
> 
> And hey, Haru POV ahead.

_“And then! The asshole asks if I know how to play Petrushka! The sheer audacity! I’m gonna play Flight of the Bumblebee one of these days, see if I don’t.”_

“But did you play it? Petrushka, I mean.”

_“Well, duh. Seriously though, I still cannot believe we’re being forced into this bureaucratic bullshit when we’re at a really sensitive stage of our study. Are you there yet?”_

“I’m walking up the stairs as we speak. Which dress shoes should I bring?”

_“The black Oxfords. Don’t forget my clam cuff links!”_

“Yes, your highness.”

Haru slips her phone back to her bag, striding along the familiar path to Gokudera’s room yet again. Verde had accosted them earlier, grumbling about a last-minute function of sorts and how he wants them to schmooze a bunch of rich people into giving them funding. They normally pass on this kind of thing, preferring to let Belphegor be the social butterfly of their little rag-tag group. But as Gokudera had pointed out time and again, they _are_ at a very sensitive stage of their study, and extensive research unfortunately requires exorbitant amounts of money and there’s only so much the school could shell out for them.

Hence, the schmoozing.

Which is why Haru—who’d unfortunately lost an intense round of rock-paper-scissors—was currently lugging around one of her emergency dresses and a pair of sensible heels, and making her way to Gokudera’s apartment to get him some clothes. They’ll just do what they always do when forced to look like actual human beings while in the middle of research: take a quick shower at the emergency showers at the lab, change into clothes free of reagent/food stains, and get ready to schmooze and eat tiny hotdogs in fancy skewers while drinking sparkling cider.

She’s fiddling with her keys, trying to untangle the mess one-handed when she hears a sharp intake of breath coming from somewhere a few steps away from where she’s standing. She pauses, looks up, and stares.

Because right in front of Gokudera’s door is a man.

A very familiar, good-looking man wearing a police uniform.

A very familiar, good-looking man wearing a well-fitted police uniform who was now staring back at her with wide-eyed horror while crouching right in front of her best friend’s apartment, obviously in the middle of _slipping a piece of paper under the door._

_Holy shit._

_Holy shit!_

Gokudera is officially the romantic lead in a romantic comedy, Haru decides.

“Uh—“

“I can explain,” the man— _Gokudera’s Liebestr_ _äume guy_ —says quickly, stumbling to his feet; the note he was slipping under the door disappearing into a pocket. _Damn_. “I was just—“ he trails off with a grimace, looking at her as if she’s something more intimidating than fifty-two kilograms of overworked grad student whose diet consists mainly of shitty instant coffee and convenience-store gyoza and the occasional terrible rice ball from Verde’s partner/girlfriend/boyfriend _thing_.

(She still has yet to figure out what Viper actually _is_. Belphegor swears on his life that Viper was of the male persuasion, but Gokudera consistently posits that Belphegor’s blinded by his overgrown fringe to notice that Viper definitely has _child-bearing hips_. Either way, Haru thinks that it’s nice that Verde found someone who can put up with him.)

“Leaving a note for Gokudera?” She prompts helpfully, twitching a smile that threatens to become a full-blown grin when Liebesträume guy’s chocolate brown eyes widen in some sort of realization. Possibly the wrong one if Haru’s instincts are correct.

“ _Oh_ ,” he breathes out, the slightest hint of disappointment coating his tone and _yeah_ , definitely the wrong idea. “Are you—“

She puts on a sincere smile, holding out her right hand. “Miura Haru, official best friend.” She files away the relieved look on the man’s face at her pronouncement and asks, “would I be correct in assuming that you’re the mystery neighbor who’s leaving notes?”

 _Liebestr_ _äume_ guy’s lips twist into an unsure smile, “Yamamoto Takeshi.” He grasps her hand in a firm handshake, “uh, actual cop and not a stalker.” The last three words are mumbled hurriedly and there’s an embarrassed flush on _Liebe_ —Yamamoto’s cheeks after he says them.

Haru grins wide enough to make her cheeks hurt because fate works in awesomely ridiculous ways, and she is _so_ totally the quirky and witty best friend in _this_ rom-com. “It’s always comforting to hear that people aren’t stalkers,” she quips.

It startles out a laugh from Yamamoto and has him rubbing at the back of his neck. “Anyway, uh. I should go.” He makes a vague hand motion towards the winding stairway behind Haru. “It was nice meeting you, Miura-san.”

“Same here, and Haru’s just fine. _Miura-san_ ’s my mom.”

There’s a beat of silence after that and Haru’s about to rattle off a goodbye when Yamamoto clears his throat.

“If it isn’t too much trouble, can you not tell—“ Yamamoto trails off uncertainly, hands folded behind his back. “I mean—I want to introduce myself eventually, just—“  

“Wanna keep the mystery alive, huh?” She teases cutting him off and internally cackling at the spreading blush on Yamamoto’s cheeks. “Sure, why not.” Haru shrugs, agreeing easily because keeping Gokudera in the dark (temporarily, at least) would be funny as hell but also double as a precautionary measure in the off-chance that Yamamoto turns out to be an asshole.

Haru smiles, benign, at the relieved look Yamamoto shoots her, before she grins, knife-sharp.

“But only if you do me a little favor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone who guessed that yamamoto was the hot police officer, congratulations.
> 
> and a tiny smidgen of verde/viper bc their interactions in the arcobaleno filler arc amuses me to no end and i have terrible taste. 
> 
> there's one more chapter left for this part before we move on to plottier things. next update will hopefully be soon-ish because christmas break is almost here and i only have three exams left for this semester and i will be free


	7. Ravel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From: Dera Grumpypants
> 
> Okay. So. Quick question. On a scale of one to Belphegor’s   
> hair, how stupid would it be to accept soup from a relatively   
> unknown source?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! I've had this chapter finished ages ago, but I keep forgetting to take the picture so, yeah. Also, I wanted to do some fancy html bs, but ended up being generally terrible at following instructions, so we'll all just have to make do with my attempt at a text message format. 
> 
> This is mostly just a filler chapter because this idea would not leave me and I couldn't just trash it.

The tickle starts in his throat just as he’s halfway through the third page; a belligerent thing that refuses to disappear after he’s cleared his throat. He hates it, abhors it, and tries to will it away through sheer force of will. It doesn’t work, obviously. And as if to spite him, it’s followed by an itch in his left nostril and—

“Ah—ah-choo!”

Gokudera groans, fighting the urge to just slump down on the keys and drown in his secretions. _Per Dio,_ he hates having colds. He grabs a few tissues from the nearly-empty box and blows his nose noisily, which earns him an annoyed meow from Uri.

“Ugh,” he pushes away from the piano, closing the lid none-too-gently as he glares down at Uri. “Shut up.” He stares blankly at the sheet music, eyes tracing the notes to Ravel’s Water Song, before he sniffs miserably and makes his way towards his bedroom.

His mysterious neighbor will just have to deal with an unfinished piece today. Gokudera’s got a cold to suffer through and really, missing one day isn’t _too bad_ and—

“Ah-CHOO!”

_Meow._

“ _Well, fuck you too, Uri_!”

-

> To: Haru M.  
>  For the record, this is all your fault.
> 
>       From: Haru M.  
>       fck off ur the one who got it 1st
> 
>           To: Haru M.  
>           Ugh.

-

> To: Liebestraume Guy   
>  hi! this is miura haru? i’m rly sorry for asking you this  
>  but dera and i caught a rly bad cold yesterday and we’re  
>  both sick. can you pls check on him??? i wont tell him  
>  that youre a serial killer :3
> 
>        From: Liebestraume Guy  
>        Sure. I’ll check on him as soon as I get home. I hope  
>        you get well soon, too! Thanks for not telling him I’m not  
>        a serial killer, haha

-

> From: Dera Grumpypants  
>  Okay. So. Quick question. On a scale of one to Belphegor’s   
>  hair, how stupid would it be to accept soup from a relatively   
>  unknown source?
> 
>       To: Dera Grumpypants  
>       how unk r we talking abt here??? liek the wicked stepmother  
>       from snow white unk or wat
> 
>             From: Dera Grumpypants  
>             It’s from Liebestraume guy. Also, you’re insane.
> 
>                  To: Dera Grumpypants  
>                  holyshtin that’s so sweet ACCEPT THE SOUp dera DO IT DO IT
> 
>                  To: Dera Grumpypants  
>                  YOURE THE ROMANIC INTERETS DERA IM SO PROURd
> 
>                        From: Dera Grumpypants  
>                        Fuck off.
> 
>                        From: Dera Grumpypants  
>                        The soup’s really good.

-

> From: Miura Haru  
>  you mde him soup oomg
> 
> From: Miura Haru  
>  did u just leave it on his doorstep???
> 
>     To: Miura Haru  
>     I thought it would help him feel better? And, yes.
> 
>           From: Miura Haru  
>           he rly likes it good job yamamoto and tnx!! (^__^)

-

_[Thanks for the soup. I didn’t get to finish last time and I probably won’t be around for a few days. So. Here’s s recording. Hope you like Debussy too.]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is2g my pictures get blurrier and blurrier each chapter


End file.
